


Solstice

by genmitsu



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Hand Jobs, Light Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 06:03:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13160787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genmitsu/pseuds/genmitsu
Summary: Jim spends the day of winter solstice with Oswald trying to protect him from a mysterious murderer out to kill the king of Gotham.Set roughly after Season 2.





	Solstice

**Author's Note:**

> It might seem strange at first, but it will make sense, so please give it a read.

 

**December 21st.**

 

Morning starts with a cup of coffee, its bitterness accentuated by two lumps of sugar. A piece of toast. He doesn’t switch the TV on anymore. No need.

Jim knows where he has to go after breakfast. There’s a small bodega on the way to the precinct and Jim has to visit. His excuse is that they get the tastiest sandwiches and he’d give one to Harvey afterwards.

He arrives in the middle of the robbery. Bodega owner dumps cash into a bag, trembling with fear at the sight of the man holding him at gunpoint. When Jim enters, the robber turns his head to him and waves his gun, spouting threats. Frightened owner drops the bag of cash, distracting the robber back to himself, and Jim uses the opportunity to wrestle the gun from the criminal. The fight doesn’t take long, Jim cuffs the robber and arrives at the precinct with both him and the sandwiches. As promised, he gives a sandwich to Harvey, with half of an apology for running late. Not like Harvey’s likely to scold him for doing his job _and_ getting him food.

Jim makes quick work of the reports and whiles away his time by actually reading a book. Some paperback novel, a ludicrous horror thing with vampires and werewolves and a lot of blood. He forgets it as soon as he turns the last page. He needs to find something to do but he can’t go out. Not yet.

Oswald arrives at precisely 2 o’clock. His coat is dusted with snow, his ears slightly pink from the cold, and he coughs delicately upon entering. He’s accompanied by Gabe, as usual. Oswald looks around the precinct and meets Jim’s gaze. At once, he flashes him a smile. Jim finds himself smiling back, as he goes down to talk to Oswald.

“Jim, such a delight to find you right away! I was worried you’d be busy with some case and not available.”

“No case right now, Oswald,” Jim replies, glad to see Oswald, his smile, his eyes. “So I am, in fact, available. You need something?”

Oswald looks taken aback by Jim’s zeal and gives him a once over, tilting his head. Jim finds this unbearably cute.

“Well, yes, indeed. I am sorry to impose on you such, Jim, but I actually require police presence at my establishment. And you’re the only one I could actually ask.”

Jim has to remind himself to tone it down, and settles into a professional mode.

“Did something happen at your club? What?”

“There’s a… threat. And not the usual variety too,” Oswald waves his hand dismissively. “More like a warning. I think it would be better if you see it for yourself.”

“Just let me grab my coat.”

When Jim returns, properly dressed to go outside, and they get into the car, Oswald looks at him with curiosity, as if he cannot believe that Jim needed so little persuasion.

“Did I break your carefully thought-out plan, Oswald? You intended to entice me with something into helping you?” Jim grins at the other man. “You still can.”

Oswald lets out a laugh. “I must admit it went easier than I expected. I’m glad though, that we can actually behave like friends for once. It’s… a welcome change from the usual. Oh! I don’t mean to say that you were unfriendly to me before, of course!”

“I _know_ I’ve been an ass to you. It doesn’t change the things I’ve said and done, but for what it’s worth, I regret it, Oswald, and I’m sorry.”

Oswald looks at him in bewilderment and blinks several times before asking tentatively, “Jim, my friend… are you unwell?”

It hurts more than Jim cares to admit that Oswald reacts to his sincere apology with such incredulity. Oswald’s no fool, never was, and Jim’s change of behaviour is too obviously a sign of something drastic. But Jim has had enough. He reaches for Oswald’s hand and brings it to rest on his forehead.

“See? No fever. I’m perfectly fine.”

Oswald’s breath hitches and his hand is trembling ever so slightly in Jim’s grasp.

“R-right, I can feel no fever. But… you seem different, Jim.”

“That’s how I am now. Start getting used to it.”

Neither is in a hurry to break the contact, but a bump in the road forces them apart anyway. Jim notices how Oswald’s blush creeps onto his cheeks and rubs the fingers that held Oswald’s hand. The first time he touched him like that. Why didn’t he do it earlier? He’s been a fool.

His thoughts are interrupted by their arrival at the club. Oswald shows him inside and to the kitchen. The message is there, written on the big fridge in red paint.

_“The king will fall on solstice day,_

_To avert this there’s one way -_

_For him to see the justice fail_

_And come undone under a spell.”_

 

Jim looks and looks at the text and it still makes no sense.

“When has it appeared, Oswald?”

“Just today. But you see, Jim, there’s no one that could’ve written this cryptic threat. It wasn’t here yesterday when the cooks were locking up, and Gabe and I were the first to arrive this morning.”

“You don’t think your cooks are lying?”

“They know better, Jim,” Oswald shrugs. “And I’m not in the habit of employing lunatics. Not for the kitchen.”

“Okay. Do you have any idea who might have left this message?”

“Is it your way of asking if I have any enemies, Jim?” Oswald chuckles. “A man in my position is bound to have them. The foremost would be… Tabitha Galavan, I believe. But it doesn’t seem like her style, she’s charmingly straight-forward in her attempts to end me.”

“Right.”

Jim comes up to the fridge and examines the letters closer. They seem to be painted on with fingers and Jim takes out the fingerprint kit out of his pocket. He takes several samples of prints but none of them are usable.

“The perp was wearing gloves, so no luck here. I didn’t expect it anyway,” Jim shrugs. “Want me to call proper forensic experts?”

“Jim, in all honesty, I don’t believe they will find anything. So let’s not bother.”

“Right. Well, what about security cameras? You do keep the data, don’t you?”

“Indeed.”

They’re in a small office together, watching the security tapes. The cooks and kitchen staff finish their duties, clean up, lock up. The kitchen area is pristine, ready for the next day. Then follow the night hours with nothing happening in the video. The TV screen is not large and they have to sit closer to it and to each other, almost bumping shoulders, and Jim is painfully aware of Oswald’s proximity. He cannot concentrate on the video, he is focused on Oswald’s scent instead. It’s a whiff of something spicy and surprisingly cold, contrasting with the warmth Jim feels emanating from Oswald’s body. Jim steals glances at Oswald every once in a while, appreciating the delicate bones of his face, the brightness of his eyes, the way black hair stands out against pale skin. Jim yearns for him and when Oswald starts and turns his head to face Jim, the detective doesn’t hear what he’s saying and just watches his lips, so much closer now, so kissable.

“Jim?”

“I’m sorry, Oswald. I had a busy couple of days lately. You were saying?”

“I’m saying that there’s a glitch in the video! The message appears right after.”

Jim once again forces himself to focus on the important things. Indeed, there’s a glitch, about 10 seconds long, and the message appears after it. The glitching video is just static and noise, no shapes there. They watch it in slow motion and frame by frame, but it’s the same old stuff with no clues.

Jim sighs. He doesn’t get breaks in Gotham, no one does, and he’s getting used to it. But when he really needs a break, on a day like today, and doesn’t get one, it feels especially unfair. He gets up from his chair and paces the room, rubbing his neck. Then he stops.

“I’ll just have to stay close to you for today and observe. We have the warning, and there’s bound to be an attempt on your life. Unless it’s an elaborate prank.”

Oswald turns slightly pink, opens his mouth and then closes it again, clearly at a loss for words. Jim can’t help a grin.

“What, you don’t want me to be around? Oswald. I’m hurt,” Jim tries his best to look offended.

Oswald stands up abruptly and grabs Jim’s hand, and gives him a small smile.

“Jim! I would be delighted. But… I have to ask. We’re friends, and I would do anything for you… but… But are you really okay putting yourself in danger for a criminal?” he blurts out in a rush and waits anxiously for Jim’s answer.

“Well. GCPD, you know? ‘To serve and to protect’,” Jim shrugs. “Also, it’s you. Saved you already, can’t let my work go to waste.”

Oswald stares at Jim for a moment before he squeezes his palm and lets go with reluctance.

“Thank you, old friend. I truly appreciate your help.”

“You do understand you’ll have to refrain from blatant law-breaking with me around, do you?”

“You may not believe me, Jim, but I wasn’t planning to do anything illegal today,” Oswald replies with mock-haughtiness. “In fact, today is one of my very few free days. I was planning to spend it at home, quietly. That’s out of the question now,” he continues, voice growing stern. “I will not appear fearful. We shall be seen outside, in public places, and if this pathetic rhyming freak wants a shot at me, let him try.”

Jim looks at Oswald, perplexed. His feelings are once again thrown in turmoil because of this man and Jim would be a dirty liar if he said Oswald’s commanding voice wasn’t a major turn-on, and that is something neither of them need right now, not with Oswald’s life in danger.

“Alright. Staying in would be a sensible thing to do, so obviously we’re not doing it. Where do you want to go then, if you want to be seen?”

“Anywhere, actually. I don’t have a lot of time for walks with business being so hectic these days. Oh, wait. I’ve been wanting to check out the Impressionists exhibition at the Gotham Gallery. We could probably go there.”

Jim thinks about it. It’s the middle of the week and the probability of the Gallery having many visitors or schoolkids inside is pretty low. He hates to think what collateral damage there could be otherwise, even if Oswald is still his priority.

“Impressionists? I would’ve pegged you for the Classicism kind of person.”

“The things we learn about each other today, Jim, wouldn’t you agree?” Oswald says, putting on his coat. “Shall we?”

Gabe drives them to the Gallery. Jim flashes his badge and they get admitted inside with no checks for weapons. They spend a couple of hours walking through the exhibition, and Oswald is surprisingly knowledgeable about art, maybe not in the same way that Barbara was, but there’s passion in his eyes when he talks about it. Jim listens to him gushing about Renoir’s choice of colour in his “pearly period”, nods here and there, but he’s too high-strung to enjoy it. He’d much rather take Oswald somewhere safe, somewhere private. Only the two of them together, and no assassins to worry about.

At some point Oswald tires of walking so obviously that Jim offers him his arm for support. Oswald’s cheeks turn reddish but he accepts and holds onto Jim with reverence and possessiveness both. It also makes him more quiet, and it seems like he doesn’t look at paintings anymore, focusing on Jim instead. At one point he stops and tries to say something only to be interrupted by Jim’s stomach growling loudly.

“Oh god,” Oswald laughs. “We should do something about that.”

‘Something’ turns out to be an Italian restaurant somehow appearing both posh and cozy, with indecently good food and even better wine. Jim relaxes against his better judgement and watches Oswald carefully peck at his dessert. At some point he just reaches out and covers Oswald’s hand with his own. Oswald stills immediately, his green eyes fixed on Jim, shining with reflected candlelight. He’s so beautiful. Jim watches him, noticing every little detail and filing it away in his memory. He’s wasted so much time. He’s wasted _so much time_.

“Jim?”

“I cannot lose you,” Jim says, his voice so tense it barely sounds like him. “I cannot lose you again.”

“You won’t, Jim,” Oswald replies quietly, not a trace of doubt in his fingers curling around Jim’s. “Nothing happened, and it’s already so late the day is almost over. I think it was a prank after all.”

How can Oswald still smile so sweetly and how can it affect Jim so much? He should’ve built up resistance by now, but it still goes straight to his heart.

“Right. I’m not risking it, Oswald.” Jim stands, pulling Oswald to rise as well. “I’m taking you home.”

“Such a gentleman, Jim Gordon,” Oswald replies with coyness. “I should’ve known. But Gabe is waiting for us outside anyway…”

“Not your place, Oswald. Mine.”

“...Jim. Jim, is that?..”

Jim pulls him closer and slips an arm around his waist.

“Yes, Oswald. I think it is.”

They go out of the restaurant, Jim never letting go of Oswald’s hand, Oswald squeezing Jim’s in turn. They dismiss Gabe and hail a taxi instead. Jim tells the driver his address. Their ride is quiet and Jim cannot tear his eyes away from Oswald, Oswald, beautiful, alive, blushing, stealing glances at Jim and never, never letting go of his hand.

 

They make a wrong turn.

 

A dark alley.

The driver turns to them, his face covered by a mask, a gun in his hand.

 

The gunshot.

Straight to Oswald’s heart.

Blood spilling all over his shirt, all over their hands. Oswald’s trembling voice calling his name. The growl Jim suddenly realizes is coming from his own throat, turning into a tormented cry before everything shatters into blackness and despair.

 

 

**December 21st.**

Jim wakes up in his bed, the growl still in his throat, the rage still in his bones.

He lost him. He lost him _again_. Jim wrecks his bedroom in fruitless fury. It does nothing to alleviate the feeling of loss and helplessness. It does nothing at all.

So Jim tries to pull himself together. He leaves the bedroom and goes to the kitchen to make coffee. After all, the morning starts with coffee, its bitterness accentuated by two lumps of sugar. A piece of toast. He doesn’t switch the TV on anymore. No need.

He’s been through December 21st, the solstice day, 23 times already. It’s all the same in crucial points. The robbery. Oswald coming to the precinct. The rhymed threat. Oswald dying in his arms at the end of the day. Then it starts again.

Jim’s spent twenty three days with Oswald, getting to know him better and better. Getting to like him. Falling in love. Jim didn’t want that, Jim fought these feelings all the way, refusing to give in. But he cannot deny them anymore. His world shatters without Oswald Cobblepot being a part of it, literally and figuratively.

It doesn’t matter where they go. It doesn’t even matter if they’re together at the end of the day. Oswald dies. The time varies. The earliest by far was 6 pm. The killers vary. It doesn’t matter. Oswald dies, and Jim only ever has one, one day with him.

Jim goes through the motions anyway.

 

 

**December 21st.**

Throughout the days Jim and Oswald have visited every place of interest in the city. The parks, the zoo, the museums, the cinema. By now Jim know that Oswald likes reading, birds, banana ice cream and roast beef, he’s well-versed in the language of flowers, he knows art, and music, that he prefers thrillers, that he gets cold easily, that in high school he’s been smoking for a while and that his love life is practically non-existent.

They walk the streets of Gotham side by side, they see the city for what it is, in all its filth and splendour, and they love it despite its shortcomings. Jim could never truly express to anyone what Gotham meant to him, but with Oswald he doesn’t need to try. Oswald loves Gotham the same way Jim does.

Jim watches him catch snowflakes on his glove, appreciating their natural exquisite symmetry. Jim listens to him speak about Fish Mooney and many things she taught him that he’s grateful for despite everything. Jim hugs him when he talks about his mother and her favourite flowers in choked voice. Jim kisses him on top of his head and Oswald stills. Jim takes him by the chin and kisses him on the mouth, softly, tenderly, warming his cold lips with his own, wishing that it could be enough to break out. To save him. But it’s not a fairytale and a kiss has no power over human fate.

“I cannot lose you,” Jim says over and over.

“You won’t, Jim,” is Oswald’s permanent reply.

 

 

**December 21st.**

Jim wakes up in his bed, the growl still in his throat, the rage still in his bones. This cannot go on much longer. Jim feels that if he has to go through it again he might just take out his gun and put a bullet into his own brain if only to escape this torture. But he fears that then he might simply die in vain and then Oswald would end up dead too, with no hope of them ever fixing this, whatever it is. Jim cannot stomach it. But he’s tried protecting Oswald in every possible way and failed. Secluded areas, public areas, the precinct - the killer makes it in every time. The killer succeeds.

Jim groans, getting up. He skips coffee. He dresses quickly and drives to Oswald’s mansion, the road snowed in and dangerous, but if he has only one day with Oswald, Jim is going to use it to the fullest, all else be damned.

He knocks on the door, and waits. It’s cold, and the snow muffles all the sounds around, and it’s so peaceful no one would believe it’s their last day on earth.

The door opens and a stocky gruff man looks at Jim questioningly. He’s never seen him before.

“I’m here to see Oswald,” Jim says. “I’m Jim Gordon.”

“Boss is sleeping right now.”

“I’m awake already, Alex, what is it?” Jim hears Oswald’s voice, still with traces of sleep in it, and he pushes past the man, entering. Oswald’s standing atop the stairs, wearing a dress gown, his hair a soft mess, and Jim thinks that he’s the most wonderful sight he’s ever seen.

“Jim!” Oswald exclaims, rushing down. “What a surprise! What brings you here so early, my friend?”

Jim walks up, meeting him halfway, and reaches for his hands. “You.”

“Oh?” Oswald replies in a small voice, startled. “Um… alright, let’s take it to the drawing room then. Thank you, Alex, please inform Olga that we have a guest.”

Oswald turns to climb the stairs back to the second floor. Jim is forced to release his hold on him but he’s only one step behind, and when they make it to the drawing room, he reaches for Oswald once again, tense with apprehension.

“You must be surprised, Oswald. But I have been thinking about it a long time.”

Jim cannot tell him everything. That the day keeps repeating, that he’s seen him die more times than he could care to count. Oswald would just think him crazy and dismiss his words and him, maybe laugh at him even, plunging unknowingly to his death.

“Thinking about what, Jim?” Oswald asks in a hushed voice, despite them being all alone in the room.

“You know they say ‘live each day like it’s your last’, right? I thought about what I’d want my last day to be like.”

Jim comes so close to Oswald he can count every freckle on his cheeks, every eyelash. His eyes are even more arresting up close.

“And I realized that I don’t need a day after this one if you’re not in it. I know I’ve been an asshole to you. I understand that you might not want me anymore after all I’ve done, hell, I wouldn’t want me after that. But… I hope that you might give me a chance to make it up to you.”

“Jim…” Oswald stares. “Oh Jim, this is so sudden.”

But for Jim it isn’t. Ever since that first fateful decision to stay close to Oswald many solstices ago, ever since Jim tried to see him as a person, get to _know_ the person behind the mobster facade that Oswald kept showing to him and only him, he was heading this way. It’s taken Jim a long time to make peace with his feelings, with what he learned of Oswald, with how Oswald treated him all these times, all boiling down inexorably to this moment.

“Is that… a ‘no’, Oswald?”

“Oh, Jim, never!” Oswald clutches at his arm as if Jim was the one rejecting him. “I didn’t dare even hope to-- I’ll give you all the chances you need.”

Jim cannot hold back anymore. He captures Oswald’s mouth with his lips, cradling his face, and the kiss is so sweet, so tender. When they part, Oswald has a sheepish look on his face, but he reaches for Jim again, initiating now, growing bolder.

 

They end up on the sofa, Oswald half-lying there, his gown slipped off his shoulders, his pyjamas undone, Jim’s hands working him steadily towards climax as he peppers Oswald’s neck in soft kisses, their bodies fitting together like they were meant to be. Oswald keeps letting moans escape from his mouth and Jim catches a few, leaving him breathless. Then Oswald tenses up, arching his back, and spills all over their hands. He pants, coming down, and Jim just watches him, entranced, never caring for his own pleasure.

But when Oswald regains some semblance of control over himself, looks up at Jim and reaches for him tentatively, palming him through the fabric of his - still zipped - trousers, Jim leans into the touch with a groan and all but rips the zipper out before coming into Oswald’s hand, his orgasm almost painful in its intensity, almost pointless, bringing release without satisfaction.

Oswald reaches him through the haze, kissing the corner of his mouth.

“I didn’t expect to be _that_ good, Jim,” he says softly but cocky nonetheless.  “You certainly have been holding out on me.”

“Just give me a moment, I’ll show you,” Jim relaxes onto Oswald, regardless of the mess they made, and nuzzles languidly at his cheek. “I will have you begging.”

“Oh? Then, by all means, _Detective_ ,” Oswald whispers into his ear. “Make me.”

Jim chuckles against his skin.

“Now who’s been holding out, hm?” he says, sliding a hand over Oswald’s side, making him shiver. “Anticipation is half the fun, you know?”

Oswald wriggles beneath him and the full body contact does something wonderful to Jim. He feels that he’s finally, inescapably, in a place where he has always been supposed to be. He kisses Oswald’s collarbone and nips lightly at his shoulder. Oswald gasps, lacing his fingers through Jim’s hair. Their caresses are suddenly broken by a sharp telephone ring. Oswald jerks on instinct, glancing towards the phone, and Jim is filled with dread. He holds onto Oswald, looking deep into his eyes.

“Don’t go.”

A heartbeat.

“Please. Don’t go.”

“Jim…” Oswald hugs him, pressing them flush. “I won’t. I have no intention to let a mere call interrupt us.” He kisses Jim again, sweetly.

And then he smirks, “Now who’s begging?” and attacks Jim’s mouth with his own, sneaking in a few bites, sliding his tongue inside. Jim groans, pushing Oswald’s legs further apart and takes hold of both their cocks, pumping them vigorously, no finesse, just lust.

They pant heavily after that, spent, sticky. Jim chuckles.

“I think we totally ruined your robe.”

“Worth it, Jim, my dear,” Oswald replies, lingering a bit before the endearment, as if he still wasn’t allowed to get that personal. Jim kisses him on the cheek reassuringly and pulls them both into a sitting position to properly embrace him.

“You don’t have to hold back with me, you know?” he murmurs against his temple.

 

They get into the shower eventually, both acquainting themselves with each other’s scars. Jim has more of them, bullets and knife grazes, but Oswald’s are more striking, glaring on his pale skin with no intention of fading, each a testament to his victories.

When they return, both in fresh bathrobes, Oswald calls up the maid with food. She tells him that Gabe called about something at the club, but Oswald just tells her to inform Gabe he would appreciate his initiative and returns to Jim, sitting beside him on the couch.

Jim realizes that he’s been holding his breath ever since the maid spoke. He hopes that as long as Oswald doesn’t see the rhyme he will be safe. He cannot think that this day will end like the rest of them, he cannot, it’s like a failsafe in his brain, preventing him from spiraling into despair before his time. He cannot and will not lose Oswald again. Of that he is certain.

“Jim?”

Oswald is in front of him, his perceptive eyes scanning Jim’s face.

“Is there something you’re trying to keep from me, Jim?”

“What? No,” Jim startles and searches for a plausible not-lie. “I guess I still can’t really believe you’ve forgiven me so easily.” He strokes Oswald’s cheek. “I know how proud you are.”

“I’m glad you didn’t know how much leeway you had with me all this time, Jim. I had a soft spot for you from the moment you spared my life, after all.”

“Why?”

“You had nothing to gain and everything to lose and yet you still chose to let me live. You just mentioned my pride. It will not let me forget such grace, when I’ve seen so little of it in my life.”

Oswald puts his hand on Jim’s neck and sneaks in a kiss before distancing himself again.

“But you’re still not telling me the truth. Or at least, not the whole truth.”

“Would I lie to you, Oswald?”

“Would you?”

“I can’t lie with my body, you know?” Jim winks at him. “I think you could notice.”

“Jim, I _know_ where you’re going with this,” Oswald sighs exasperatedly. “Don’t flatter yourself thinking you’ve fooled me. But… it gives me an idea.”

There’s something in Oswald’s voice that fills Jim with excitement even before he hears what he has in mind. Jim’s always had a thing for taking orders, that’s what made him good in the army, that’s what made him respect Barnes. It’s just that Jim hardly met anyone whose orders he was willing to take, whom he let this much.

 

Oswald is standing in front of him and Jim kneels, his robe discarded. Oswald is still in his, looking severe, like a patrician.

“May I?” Jim gestures.

“Yes.”

Jim takes Oswald’s cock in his mouth, sliding his tongue over the soft skin. He teases him a little, playful licks and kisses, before taking it as far as he can.

“No hands.”

Oswald’s voice sends shivers down Jim’s spine, Jim’s already half-hard cock getting harder in an instant. And then Oswald holds his palm under Jim’s chin, locking him in place, and slides his cock inside his mouth, and out, with excruciating slowness, savouring - not the sensation, control. Jim does his best to please him, hollowing his cheeks and using his tongue, and he can almost taste Oswald’s incoming orgasm, when the cock slides out of his mouth completely. Jim looks up at Oswald’s face, longing for more, for his lover’s release, for his taste.

“Let me?”

“No,” Oswald replies, and despite his controlled appearance, his voice is raw. “I want you to prepare me.”

Jim almost loses himself, a wave of heat washing over him. He puts a hand on Oswald’s hip and slicks his fingers with saliva before probing Oswald’s entrance carefully. Oswald’s breath hitches and his hips buckle as Jim continues to work him, sliding inside slowly, one, two fingers, three. Oswald grabs on to Jim’s shoulders, his legs almost giving out, his breath growing shallow.

“Enough,” he commands, and Jim stills immediately, unable to disobey. “Enter me.”

Jim’s cock is leaking so much he only needs to give himself a couple of strokes before he’s ready. He guides Oswald to the couch, makes him lie down and positions himself between his legs. He glances up at Oswald’s face, flushed and stern.

“Do it.”

Jim slides in, slowly, giving him time to adjust. Oswald groans and holds on to Jim’s arms resting on his hips, his fingers digging painfully into Jim’s skin. Jim is buried inside to the hilt, almost unable to breathe. Oswald’s not the only one who has to adjust. The tightness around Jim, the heat, the overall sensation of being connected so deeply are nearly overwhelming. He rocks his hips slightly, giving Oswald a taste of what’s to come, and gratefully catches a moan off his lips.

“Jim… _Move_.”

He obeys, sliding out slowly, then in, settling on a slow rhythm to fully focus on the moment. Oswald reaches his hands up and rests them on Jim’s shoulders, bringing him close enough to rasp in his ear, “Harder.”

Jim shivers and complies, driving into Oswald with more force, bottoming out on every move. Oswald hooks his good leg over Jim’s waist, adding still more drive to each thrust. They gasp and moan and Jim reaches between them, grasping Oswald’s cock, and then it’s over in a blinding flash, as they climax, Oswald shuddering around him.

After Jim finally slides out, they lie still, content, exchanging sweet kisses. Then the door opens without warning.

It’s Alex and his face is an unreadable mask. He has a gun in his hand.

 

It’s always been a gunshot, Jim realizes suddenly. He pushes Oswald to the side and grabs the nearest weapon, which turns out to be a fruit fork. It’s useless, but he throws it at Alex anyway, hitting his hand. It jerks and the shot misses, going into the wall. It’s enough time for Jim to get to the man and strike at his hand again, knocking the gun away. He cannot stop, and keeps hitting the man over and over, in his gut and over his neck, knee in his face, again, again, pouring all of his frustrations, all of his losses into every hit. This time the killer won’t succeed. This time, this time…

 

Finally, Jim backs away from the bloody mess. He looks at it with no remorse, filled with relief and accomplishment instead. Then he glances up to check on Oswald.

He looks at Jim with eyes wide, his mouth agape. Unharmed. Alive. That’s all that matters.

“Jim?”

“It’s alright,” Jim replies, stepping over the body and approaching Oswald. “It’s alright now.”

He looks at Jim, blood on Jim’s hands and knees and feet, on his face.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Oswald,” he says. He’s more than fine. He’s actually a little smug, even. “You’re safe.”

Oswald touches his bloodied hand, lacing their fingers together.

“That’s what you weren’t telling me, Jim?” he looks up at Jim’s face and his eyes seem to be satisfied with what they see in Jim’s. He kisses Jim on the mouth, possessively, as if staking a claim.

“No more secrets though.”

“Sure,” Jim replies easily, glad to submit. “No more secrets.”

 

In the morning Jim wakes up in Oswald’s bed, his arms wrapped around him, his hair tickling Jim’s nose.

The solstice is finally over.

 

\---

 

“Jim, where the fuck have you been yesterday?! You didn’t even call sick or something.”

“Sorry, Harv,” Jim answers, not sorry in the least. “Write it off as personal leave, would you? I had an… uh, a date with destiny.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for making it this far! I hope you enjoyed it.  
> Feedback is greatly appreciated :)


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